The yearning for battle was something that was ever present in her soul. Like a runestone on a mythic sword that wielded so much potential. An etch on her very person, imprinted in the forms of tribal markings on her back and lower neck. It was days of peace where she was out of place – perhaps even uncomfortable. She sometimes knew that her misguided perception of reality – was a downfall. War wasn’t everything, she was more than just a military officer, she was a mother. The holo-image of her and Marisa flickered occasionally on the desk as she looked over the various logs from the Task Force, reports and requisition forms. Somewhere within her, she hoped that she’d find a fault, maybe even an glimmer that trouble was brewing on the horizon.

Her garnet color eyes would gaze up to the image of the platinum haired child, who had recently turned six years old. The little girl was growing up fast and showing the potential to use the Force – something that Alarice feared greatly. She feared she’d get sucked into the grand crusades of the Jedi and become yet another victim to a war of light versus dark – maybe even a weapon against her very being. Project Pandora had kept her early years a secret – even from Roman, which was beneficial for the young child of the Prime Minister of the New Republic, but soon after the demise of Sivter – the project was abandoned and Marisa was allowed to leave Contruum.

She still lived under heavy guard – protected by the most elite forces that Alarice could muster, the Spectres. Colonel Aulter was given sole watch over the child, who had recently taken a political journey with her father, someone that Alarice found herself at odds with here and there. Their relationship was kept private – and oddly enough, never blossomed to its full potential. Maybe that was her own fault, she kept Marisa from Roman for so long and now she paid the price for it.

His trust for her was lacking.

She didn’t blame him.

It was a simple give and take situation, one which Alarice fully took and didn’t apologize for. She was stubborn and Roman was a politician. She’d heave a sigh and rise slowly from the desk, fully adorned in her officer’s uniform. It was rather a bit more complicated than uniforms of the past – adorned with achievements, campaign ribbons and medals alike from the past twenty years of service under the banner of the Alliance and the New Republic. Her shoulder was decorated with emblems that resembled starbursts – four of them to be exact, with a small New Republic logo engraved in the center. The structure of the rank was no longer simple dots, the system having been overhauled a few years prior by the New Republic command. In the corner of her study – was her battleworn red and gold armor, with the Sword of Light held within the mighty gauntlets of the oversized armor. Despite its worn down finish, it still managed to shine underneath the dim light.

Her gaze would fall upon the armor, and might like the dim light that shown down upon it, her memories of using it were faded. Those were easier times it would seem, now she was pulling duties that were fit for administrative personnel – atleast that is how she felt.

She’d swivel in her chair, turning back to her desk with a datapad in hand. With a soft thud, she’d drop it on the desk and bring a hand to her chin and cheek in thought. She did miss Marisa and Roman was somewhere in that train of thought that was roaring through her mind. Maybe she should send them a message? Perhaps take a personal shuttle to meet them wherever they were? Roman would make time in his busy schedule to see her wouldn’t he? She groaned loudly and brought both elbows down to her desk, burying her head into hands. Why was this difficult? A relationship with him was near impossible. It wasn’t something he jumped at – nor made the inclination he desired from her. Maybe she was just being difficult and didn’t see something.

Maybe she was just being too military?

Whenever he caught her out of the uniform, away from her comfort – she was a different person. She was, well, human. He did things that made her feel peaceful and happy. They had good times – she remembered a particular night on Chandrilla that was quite out of the norm. Hands would run through her red-gold locks as she looked up once more at the holoimage and sighed. Fingers would lace between the locks of hair before she reached down to her desk, leaning back as she did so. She’d punch in comm frequency to Roman’s personal line – hopefully, he’d respond.

Maybe it was time to let things go and move forward – and take more steps towards a normal life.